


a true love unrehearsed

by winter_angst



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: BDSM, Collars, M/M, Misbehaving Brock, Punishment, Strict Jack, low calorie agnst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:00:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25002028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_angst/pseuds/winter_angst
Summary: sometimes Brock misbehaves and Jack needs to put him in his place
Relationships: Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow
Comments: 1
Kudos: 21





	a true love unrehearsed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kalika999 (kalika_999)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/gifts), [xCrossbonesx (StarSpangledBucky)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarSpangledBucky/gifts).



> this was the product of a conversation I had with x-crossbones-x and kalika999 far too late a long time ago and I'm only now typing it up. whoops. 
> 
> title from Lydia by Highly Suspect 
> 
> let me know what you think!

Jack sipped his whiskey, sitting back in his leather chair while looking sternly at Brock from across the room. Brock was struck by the urge to apologize but he hadn’t done a damn thing wrong and also, he doesn’t apologize. His mind raced as Jack brought the glass back up to his lips, he wasn’t sure how long his patience would hold out. He swallows hard and the strip of leather buckled around his throat brushed his skin. It hit him all once how he’d wronged Jack already. He’d taken off the collar during his shower and had left it sitting on the table. It wasn’t until Jack had walked through the door that he’d grabbed it and quickly buckled it back into place. Brock had thought Jack hadn’t noticed, too busy shrugging out his jacket and taking off his boots. Clearly Jack’s eyes were sharper than Brock’s memory. 

Brock didn’t feel right about walking up to Jack, not with that stony expression and hard green eyes directed at him so he dropped down, as gracefully as he could when he was so tense, knees sinking into the carpet as he crawled across the space between them. He stopped, resting his cheek against Jack’s knee and Jack reached down and stroked his face. His touch was gentle, work hardened hands chafing very carefully across his olive skin, his thumb catching his bottom lip. Brock’s mouth fell open immediately, expecting the digits to slip into his mouth. 

They don’t.

Jack reached down, threading the excess length of the band back into its place. Brock knew Jack’s strict expectations for how his collar was to be worn and he swallowed dryly. Jack sat back, letting Brock formulate a proper apology. Brock stayed quiet, cheek pressed against Jack’s knee, letting the silence sit between them in clear defiance. Above him Jack pressed his lips into a thin line before he spread his legs a bit, allowing space for Brock to kneel between them. He eagerly took the invitation, resting his cheek against the inside of Jack’s thigh now. 

Brock was well aware that Jack was displeased, or at least disappointed, but he still didn’t apologize. He looked up through his lashes, waiting. It’s worked plenty of times, waiting out Jack’s anger until he got over it and gave Brock the praise he was looking for. Jack was quiet, saying nothing and Brock kept his lips sealed. Then, finally, Jack began to pet his hair, running his fingers through his damp hair with the loving gentleness Brock had hoped he’d get from his Dom. The tension in Brock’s body relaxed, he’d won, Jack wasn’t mad.

Then the petting got a bit more firm beforer Jack took a fistful of his hair and pulled him up slowly, carefully, to his feet. It’s not painful but Brock’s eyes began to swim with tears and he won’t look at Jack. 

“I gave you so many chances,” Jack sighed regretfully. “It seems I have a very stubborn boy on my hands.” 

Brock began to fidget which he knows Jack hates but he can’t help it. He began to regret not apologizing; he always seemed to regret his mistakes when it came time for consequences. And Jack was good at dealing out punishments when Brock stepped out of line. 

“I don’t know why you’re upset. I just forgot.” Brock tried, piteous and not exactly begging because he still clung to his pride until the last moment. 

Jack’s eyes darkened and Brock realized it was a poor attempt. He tried to squirm away but Jack’s grip was unyielding and if he tried to kneel it would just tug at his scalp. 

“What am I supposed to do with you?” Jack wondered aloud. 

He wasn’t talking to Brock; Brock’s consequences came at Jack’s decision. Brock could only stand in an uncomfortable position, head cranked toward Jack’s thoughtful expression. The smell of whiskey was warm on Jack’s breath and on Brock’s skin. He shivered although the room was not cold. Touching Jack without permission would only worsen things but he was tempted to do so anyway.

“I suppose I’ll have to get my boy a collar that only I can remove.” 

Brock nearly bristled at the idea even this dick was beginning to harden at the very thought of Jack holding that level of control over him. 

“But that doesn’t take care of my boy being sloppy and lying to me.” The disappointment in Jack’s voice made Brock attempt to draw his chin against his chest in shame. It pulls at his hair but the pain is deserved. “How should you be punished for that?”

“A-a strongly worded letter about your feelings on the matter?” Brock tried. 

Jack was, unsurprisingly, not at all amused. He looked heavily at his sub, still steady despite the strenuous positioning.   
“Do you find yourself funny, Brock?” 

Brock definitely does but not in this particular moment. Regardless he can’t help but quip, “Do you find me funny, Sir?” 

The corners of Jack’s mouth twitched upward a moment, hinting toward possible amusement. Brock mirrored the action, with the waver only a sub staring into the face of his angry Dom could muster. His pulse was rabbiting and his body was feeling the strain of the position more and more the longer he held it. 

His legs gave out and he was led toward the floor carefully as the side of his face burned. The hot sting of his cheek and cool hardwood beneath his knees registered before the sound of dry whack and the feeling of Jack’s palm against his face. 

“Good boys don’t talk back.” Jack’s eyes were heavy on him, boring holes into his back as he tucked lower to the floor.

Brock was left breathless, not by pain — the slap hadn’t hurt much, it was just unexpected. But his cock hard and leaking between his thighs, and he was praying the pre-cum wouldn’t get on the floor because Brock would have to lick it up. His cock gave a throb at the memory of Jack standing over him, ensuring the job was done and rewarded him with a warm and genuine, “that’s a good boy” when it was complete. 

“Up.”

Automatically Brock rose to stand before Jack who eyed him critically. It’s a possessive look, one of complete ownership and he saw the lewd way Brock’s cock pointed towards him, begging as it drooled shamelessly. 

“I said up, not ‘make a mess of my floor and yourself’.” Jack tutted but there’s no heat to his voice. There never was He was always calm, always well aware of Brock. It made him hard to read, and at times, hard to please.

But Brock wouldn’t ever want to please anyone the way he did Jack. No one else was worthy...no one else made Brock feel worthy, either. 

“Fetch a towel and lay across my lap.” Jack ordered lazily. 

Brock missed the pressure of Jack’s hand fisted in his hair the second it was gone but he hastened to complete the task. He knew what it was for and his face flushed a bit with shame as he laid it across Jack's legs. Carefully he draped himself across as well. 

His chest rested against the arm of the chair, a thin sheen of sweat quickly forming an adhesive to the leather. His knees were folded against the other side, shins braced against it. His ass was lifted and exposed. 

Jack took his wrists in one massive hand, fine delicate bones pressed carefully together in his grip. Jack’s other hand hooked onto the back of the collar. Not enough so to choke Brock or even affect his breathing but the hardened leather cut a bit into the soft olive skin of his throat. 

“This is to be on you in my presence and you know this. You were not forgetful, you were procrastinating and thought you had more time. Don’t lie to me again. If you don’t want to wear my collar — “

“I do.” Brock felt cold at the sheer idea of losing his collar, tears he’d kept back running down his cheeks. He hid his face in shame as he finally admitted his reasoning. “I do want your collar and I’m sorry. I just wanted... I wanted your attention.”

“You could’ve asked. Misbehaving does not get you your way. Off me.”

Brock, confused and highly concerned scrambled to obey. He feared Jack would take away his collar but the Dom simply folded the towel and set it aside. Bitter disappointment that he wasn’t going to be getting the hands on punishment he sought filled Brock. 

“To the corner,” he gestured lazily and leaned forward to take the remote from the coffee table. “I’ve already indulged your poor behavior enough for one night. Tomorrow we will try again and maybe you’ll ask properly.” 

Brock doesn’t sulk, not typically, but he did as he shuffled to the corner. He didn’t have to maintain a position because his nose to the wall is plenty punishment enough. The isolation of knowing Jack was there and not sitting at his feet or pressed against his chest ached fiercely. 

It’s Brock’s fault and this is his punishment. It was fitting and it was hard, exactly as it was intended. If it got to be too much he could say ‘hydra’ and Jack would give him a warm bath and hold him tightly all night long. But Brock deserves this. 

He will endure and tomorrow he will be better.


End file.
